Last weekend, I blew my palate across the sky in a shower of beautiful sparks. I’m not talking about sucking on a Roman Candle, either. I’m talking about drinking bacon-infused vodka.

My friend Rob had some around his house that a chef friend had made. It’s smoky, a little greasy but not in a bad way. Like, kinda slippery-tasting. It’s not the sort of thing you’d want to gargle with or drink out of a full pint glass. But it would make the mother of all Bloody Marys (Maries?) for a hangover breakfast drink. Or sipped straight, stirred with a slice of avocado.

Here’s a recipe that I found for the stuff — could make for a great Christmas gift, too.

And before people start cutting their eyes and warming up the snark for the comments, just remember: I know that bacon’s a big Internet meme right now. Possibly cliche, even. But there’s a good reason for it:

Bacon is awesome. End of story.

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It’s been a couple days now, and it keeps happening — and at the oddest times, too. Sometimes I can control it and sometimes I just let it happen, let the people on the subway stare. My breath hitches kinda funny, hiccups, and my throat and voicebox shake like a bus on a bumpy road. My eyes tear up every time and I’ve just sort of stopped wiping it away.

I can’t tell if I’m happy or sad when it happens, mostly I’m just swallowed up by the enormity of the feeling. It’s like being a particle of plankton and getting swallowed up by a gigantic, benevolent whale.

America elected Barack Obama to be the President of the United States on Tuesday night, and the emotional aftershocks just keep coming.

So along with the spontaneous, random sobs of joy and relief, I’m having this recurring hallucination. Or maybe it’s a daydream. But whatever.

Every time I see, hear, or imagine somebody doing something incredibly well, that person has Barack Obama’s head.

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I just got off the phone with my mother, who reports that my grandfather died this morning quickly and painlessly. She’s in the middle of funeral arrangements right now and will tell me when to get on the train to Virginia sometime tonight. Right now everyone’s moving too much to grieve and I can’t think about a damn thing.

He’ll be missed.

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An old friend sent this photo to me this morning … there’s just something so classic about it:

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